No, Those Pokémon Cards are Not For Sale! | Forest of 5 Paths Short Story Contest Winner

Tea With an Old Friend

By Rachel Leitch

Gone.

      It had become routine. To wake up, rub my eyes, stretch a bit. Then to tour the entirety of this old rambling house to see what was missing. One time it was a Charles Dickens novel. Another time a great wad of pounds. Another time a pair of warm stockings.

Whoever it was, was slowly picking off my possessions one by one.

      I rounded the corner to the towering china cabinet. “There.” Great Aunt Phoebe’s antique tea set. There’d only ever been one like it. The china maker had painted it especially for her, since he was her husband and all.

      I strode over to the telephone in the corner. I punched in the number of the police station, but my fingers froze on the dial.

      I could already hear them laughing. “Imogen again? She calls every day. We’ll make a note of it. Maybe check in for good measure if it’s pricy enough. But you know what we’ll find. The very item she claimed was stolen sitting fine and dandy on her shelf. Living alone must be getting to her.”

But it wasn’t.

I didn’t know what they weren’t seeing, but all my things were disappearing.

      I finished my morning routine—dressing in a gown of soft pink and pinning my hair back. I forewent breakfast in favor of a tranquil walk in the woods. Time to think.

      Leaves softened by autumn swished under my feet as I walked down the barely beaten path. The trees danced above me. They saw. I knew they did.

If only they would tell me the answer.

I watched one waving treetop after another . . . until wood caught my eye.

I raised the hem of my dress and stepped just a bit off the trail.

A treehouse. Perched high in the branches of a sturdy oak.

But I’d torn my treehouse down years ago.

      A flutter caught my eye. Hung out on a line that stretched from the treehouse was my crimson shawl.

      I stepped towards the ladder. Each board marched solidly into the trunk of the tree. I traced a hand across it and soon my foot followed.

      Rung by rung, I scaled up the tree trunk, until, finally, I poked my head up into the boxy structure.

“I wondered when you’d come.”

That voice . . . I gripped the platform harder and turned my head slowly.

He sat cross-legged in the corner and said nothing. He didn’t have to.

I nearly fell back down the ladder. “Elijah?”

He shrugged one shoulder.

I scrambled up the ladder and into the treehouse. “But—but you’re—”

He only shrugged again as if he’d heard it a million times. 

You’re dead.

      I’d been there. Had watched it happen a million times after in my nightmares. Elijah had been my best friend.

Still was, if I told myself the truth.

      I scooted across the floor towards him an inch at a time—as if he might disappear if I moved any faster. “How are you here?”

“I don’t know.”

I reached out one hand to brush his sleeve. “How long have you been living here?”

He did the same to me. “I guess however long you’ve been looking for me.”

      “You’ve been here. Not dead. Since the accident.” I shook my head, dislodging several tendrils of hair. “But how? Why?”

He licked his lips. “Maybe there’s some part of me that isn’t finished.”

I glanced at the teacup at his side. “But you’ve been taking my things.”

Elijah opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and frowned.

“Why can’t anyone see that my things are disappearing, when they’re clearly here instead?”

“People don’t see things they’re not looking for.”

      I clenched and unclenched my hands in my lap. My gaze fell on the pile of newspapers in the corner. Every article that I’d clipped and saved about his accident.

I wasn’t enough to save him.

Maybe I had killed him.

“Come. There has to be an explanation.” I started for the ladder.

Elijah didn’t follow.

I turned. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t leave.”

I frowned, not having the heart to ask him what he meant again.

      He held out one hand over the opening to the ladder. His hand froze there, pushed back by some unseen force. “It’s been like that ever since. I can’t leave.”

      I blew out a long sigh and climbed back up in the treehouse—although now I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to get out later.

“What’s it like?” I whispered, staring up through the gaps in the roof to the swaying branches.

      “Not any different than before. It rather feels like I’m living in the real world . . . and all of you don’t know what’s true.” Elijah pushed a teacup and saucer across to me.

I picked it up and stared into it. Black tea with a pinch of sugar. Just how I liked it.

I took a sip. Just two old friends having tea together.

Never mind the fact that one of us was dead.

“Imogen? Hello!”

I nearly dropped the cup and saucer but managed to set it down with the respect it deserved.

“Who’s that?” Elijah crawled to the balcony edge and peered over.

I grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back.

A foot stepped on the ladder. “Imogen? Are you up here?”

“He can’t come up here,” Elijah mouthed.

“Why?” I hissed.  

He traced a finger through a crack in the floorboards.

      If something horrible would happen to Arlo if he stepped up here . . . had that something already happened to me?

      I slipped out of the tree house and down the ladder, relieved that whatever that magic force was didn’t try to stop me too.

“There you are.” Arlo clutched his hat tighter. “I was worried you’d gotten lost.”

      As if I couldn’t navigate the forest behind my own house without help. “You needed something?”

      “I was going to ask if you wanted to go for a walk in the woods, but it seems you’ve taken one without me.”

      “Seems I have.” The mayor’s son always had been too nosy for his own good. He was back then. He still was now.

“Have you always had this treehouse?” He put his hand to the ladder once more.

I did, too, only higher. “Yes.”

“How come you never told me?”

      Why would I have? Despite what he thought, we’d never really known each other. He was only interested in the cardboard exterior of Imogen. “It was a special place of mine.”

“Mind if I have a look?”

“It’s private.” I tightened my jaw.

“Oh. I see.” A flash of remembrance crossed his face. “Isn’t this where—”

Honestly, did the man have no tact?

      “Perhaps I ought to have a look. It might finally solve whatever did happen to old Elijah after all.” He brought his foot onto the first rung.

      I climbed three rungs higher and blocked his way. “Is that so? Because I thought you knew everything about what happened that day. At least that’s what you told everyone in town.”

“I didn’t mean to paint you as . . .” He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“As what? As a murderer? Or can’t you say? You had no problem saying it then.”

“You were the only person with him when he . . . “

      “And that is precisely why you cannot enter this treehouse.” I clambered back up the ladder and closed the trapdoor.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He walked back down the trail, whistling as he went. The nerve.

I straightened, pulling my ear away from the trapdoor.

Elijah pressed both palms to his forehead.

I frowned and knelt next to him. “Are you alright?”

“Just a headache. They come and go. But this one . . . this one’s getting worse.” He chanced a glance up at me. “I think it gets worse the closer I get to leaving the treehouse. For good, I mean.”

      I laid one hand on his back gingerly, as if I feared it might pass through. “What do you mean?” I dared ask again.

“It’s why Arlo can’t come up here.” He blew out a long breath. “Whoever comes in here after me—they can’t leave the treehouse.”

I drew back. “What?”

“That’s why I was moving all your things here. I had to choose someone, they said, and I couldn’t imagine anyone better to take over this treehouse than you.”

“But . . .” The rest of my life? Wasted here in some treehouse? “But I don’t want this!”

“Neither did I. But you might be surprised what kind of things happen in these woods.” He bit the inside of his lip. “These woods need you more than you know.”

“No, they don’t.”

“They need someone who will care about them. Care for them. And show other people the light here.”

“How can I do that if I’m trapped in a treehouse?”

      One corner of his mouth turned up. “There’s so much for you to learn. I don’t know. But I know you’ll find out.”

“If my things are here, and no one else sees they’re missing . . . will there be a version of me back there, too? Even though I’m really here?”

      He shook his head hard enough his hair ruffled. “No. Everything has clearly vanished from your house. There can’t be a second you.” 

“I . . . I’m not ready.”

He grinned, even though pain flickered in his eyes. “Sure you are.”

A startled cry erupted from behind us.

No.

I spun.

Arlo’s head poked through the trapdoor. Then his arm, pointing at Elijah. “How?”

“No! Arlo, get out!” I screamed.

“What’s happening?” Now his shoulders.  

“You can’t come in, you’ll be trapped.”

“Something’s not right.” He reached for the telephone on a nearby table.

I scrabbled for it, but lost my grip. It crashed to the floor, a few paces away. I reached for it.

Elijah grabbed my arm.

“I have to grab the—”

“Imogen.”

I froze.

“Imogen.” Elijah stood before me, and stared straight into my eyes, all pain erased. “You didn’t kill me.”

      I covered my mouth with my hand. But I had. I knew the board was loose. I should have nailed it down as soon as I noticed it. He tripped and fell from the balcony of this treehouse to the ground below.

“You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Arlo’s hand inched closer to the phone.

“It was an accident. And trust me . . . I’m right where I need to be.” He leaned in closer to my ear. “These woods are a magical place, Imogen. Literally, not figuratively. Someday you’ll see.”

A thin shaft of sunshine slit the clouds outside. Elijah stepped out onto the balcony. “The treehouse is yours now. I know you’ll do it proud.”

“No, Elijah, wait!”

He turned back, hesitation etched on his face.

And I knew.

I had to let him go. His purpose was done.

I lifted my hand and waved slowly.

He grinned and waved back.

Arlo’s hand slipped on the phone.

      I grabbed the phone and tossed it in the rubbish bin in the corner. “I’m sorry. But you can’t come in.”

I gently pushed his fingers off the ledge and closed the trapdoor.

“Imogen!”

His fall wouldn’t hurt him. Not like being in this treehouse would.

      When I turned around, Elijah was gone. His purpose fulfilled. So I sat on the edge of the balcony, one hand outstretched for him to hold, and waited for the magic to appear.

Congratulations Rachel!

I really like where you took this prompt. The idea of the treehouse, the close friend that passed away returning (or did he return?), and the hints at their past makes for such an intriguing and mysterious story.

I love how the dialogue throughout hinted at the characters' past. It was interesting and full of mystery while still staying relevant and natural.

I also love all the metaphors throughout this story. There're so many different interoperations that you can pull from this which makes it so fun to read and reread.

Thanks so much for sharing this story, Rachel! It's so unique and full of intrigue. I loved reading it, and congrats on your second win!

This short story is a part of The Forest of 5 Paths Short Story Contest. To learn more about the contest click the button below:

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